Sorting

"Good! That's the spirit!"

Oren nodded in satisfaction. Today had been far too entertaining.

Harry, Ron...

The compartment door opened again, and three young wizards walked in.

A blond boy with slicked-back hair said in an affected drawl, "They said Harry Potter was in this compartment. That's you, right? This is Goyle and Crabbe. I'm Draco Malfoy."

"Pfft."

"You think that's funny? Red hair, freckles all over your face, too many children to afford raising them. A disgrace to pure-bloods, right, Weasley?"

He turned back to Harry.

"Potter, you'll soon realize that some wizarding families are far better than others. You wouldn't want to make friends with the wrong sort, would you? I can help you with that."

Hermione said, "You shouldn't insult Ron's family. You should apologize to him."

Draco said, "Who are you? Which family are you from?"

The young witch said firmly, "My name is Hermione Granger."

"Granger? Tch." He ignored the young witch outright.

Hermione tugged hard at the hem of her robes, her knuckles white from clenching them.

Draco pointed at Oren's ring and said, "You're the Black family heir, aren't you? I thought you were a boy."

Draco's pale little face had turned somewhat red.

Crash! Oren tore off a section of the table with his bare hands.

"Gasp..."

Everyone in the compartment sucked in a sharp breath.

"Mr. Draco Malfoy, you seem to know quite a lot about me, huh?"

Oren stood, tied up his hair, and strode toward Draco with an overwhelming air of pressure.

Draco's flushed face instantly turned pale. He felt as though a fire dragon had wrapped itself around his throat. Worse still, his two lackeys were tossed out the door one-handed by Oren like rag dolls.

Bang! The compartment door shut. The sound seemed to hammer directly against his heart, and Draco Malfoy's little face went frighteningly pale.

"Go on, Mr. Malfoy. How much do you know?"

Draco swallowed. "You're the Black family heir. Your mother should be from some small pure-blood family in France, but they've stubbornly refused to acknowledge it."

"And then?"

"Your father doesn't know yet, but it probably isn't Sirius Black."

Oren said impatiently, "Tell me something useful. Like whether Black has any enemies or something."

"Not that I know of."

Oren nodded. Good. As long as there was none of that troublesome nonsense, it would not interfere with his path of wizarding cultivation and his ascent to true magical immortality.

Draco hesitated. "You... aren't you going to ask whether you have any relatives?"

"Who's my relative?"

"I can count as one of your relatives."

"You?"

"My mother Narcissa's maiden name is Black."

Oren clicked his tongue.

"So we're distantly related. What a shame. I was planning to beat you up and teach you a lesson."

Draco!!! I escaped disaster!

Oren looked at the little cousin in front of him... or perhaps a cousin on the other side of the family... Whatever, they seemed to use the same word in English anyway.

"So why did you bring these two pieces of trash here?"

"Nothing. We just came to say hello."

"Fine. Have you said hello?"

Draco nodded frantically. "I have, I have."

"Good. Then you can piss off."

Oren opened the compartment door and tossed Draco out like a bag of garbage.

The compartment door shut, and Oren walked over to Hermione. "Go on, move inside."

Hermione...

After shooing the young witch into the seat by the window, Oren finally slumped into his chair.

Harry asked, "Oren, are you related to that Draco Malfoy?"

Oren rolled his eyes. "Come on. I bet all those so-called pure-blood families are related somehow."

"For all we know, the three of us might be related to the Malfoys too."

The young witch muttered, "So this is what wizards are like?"

Oren curled his lip. "You little witch, don't go asking about pure-blood matters."

Hermione...

"Do you know which House you'll be sorted into? I hope I get Gryffindor. I heard Dumbledore graduated from Gryffindor. Ravenclaw might not be bad either."

"Whooo..." The train whistle sounded as the train slowly began to decelerate.

"You'd better change into your robes quickly. We're probably about to arrive. Ron, there's a smudge on your face." With that, the young witch left the compartment.

Ron said, "No matter which House I'm sorted into, I hope I'm not in the same one as her."

Oren said, "I'm definitely going to Gryffindor. If I get sorted into Slytherin, I'll go make a scene with the headmaster."

Harry, Ron...

"First-years, over here!" Hagrid shouted, then yanked Oren back from the carriages when he tried to blend in with the older students.

Hagrid shouted, "Harry, over here!"

"All first-years, follow me. Watch your step."

They walked along a pitch-black path, stumbling all the way. Several young wizards fell over like turtles unable to flip themselves back over.

Hagrid called out, "Once we get around this bend, you'll see Hogwarts."

Cries of amazement rose from all around them.

They arrived at the lakeshore and boarded small boats, four to a boat, drifting slowly toward the castle.

Seeing Oren half reclined in the boat, Harry said, "Aren't you going to look at the castle? It's beautiful."

"I've seen it enough. Better to rest while I can and prepare for the Sorting ceremony."

Ron's face went pale. "Fred said that during the Sorting ceremony, we have to get past a sleeping fire dragon alive."

Harry nervously began swallowing over and over.

Oren said boredly, "He lied to you. The Great Hall isn't that big. How could it possibly fit a sleeping fire dragon?"

Everyone looked much better after hearing that.

Oren added darkly, "It's a troll. Dumbledore told me this morning. You just have to kill a troll."

Harry and Ron began trembling nervously, while Hermione kept reciting spells under her breath.

"What are you scared of? It's only a troll. And you, little witch, what's the point of memorizing spells? Are you trying to talk the troll to death?"

Hermione said anxiously, "Then what would work? What should I do?"

"This would work." Oren pulled a five-foot-long blade from his tiny shirt pocket.

Harry and Ron stared at him in shock, their mouths hanging open.

The young witch looked at Oren in disbelief. "What kind of magic is that?"

"You're a studious young witch, but before asking questions, you can't even bring yourself to call me senior."

"Senior," the young witch said reluctantly.

"It's the Undetectable Extension Charm."

After saying that, he ignored the nervous trio, looking as though he were conserving his strength for a decisive battle.

They slowly drifted across Black Lake, reached an underground dock, and then returned to the surface through a dark tunnel.

Hagrid raised a fist the size of a basketball and pounded on the great doors three times.

The doors opened. Professor McGonagall led the new students into an empty room, told them to prepare for the Sorting ceremony, and then left.

Oren vaguely remembered that short videos he had watched before transmigrating had mentioned being sorted by a hat, but Dumbledore had personally told him they would fight a troll.

He tossed the nonsense about sorting by hat out of his mind. It had to be a troll. Would the headmaster really have nothing better to do than lie to young wizards?

Oren was not worried at all. It was just a troll. He would make sure it came but never left.

When McGonagall returned, she said, "First-years, form a single line and follow me."

Looking at the pale-faced trio shuffling ahead of him as though walking to an execution ground, Oren only wanted to roll his eyes.

It was just a troll. How powerful could something that first-years were expected to fight possibly be? It would probably pass out after one kick.

McGonagall took out a hat that was probably older than Oren's great-great-great-grandfather. The hat split open along a seam and began to sing.

When the song ended, McGonagall said, "When your name is called, sit on the stool."

"Hannah Abbott."

Oren looked toward Dumbledore at the staff table and gave him a look. Its meaning was simple: I've sharpened my blade. Where's the troll you mentioned?

Dumbledore replied to Oren with a smile.

"Oren Black."

He marched forward on his short little legs. "Professor McGonagall, we know each other so well. How about we skip the process and send me straight to Gryffindor?"

McGonagall rubbed his head like he was a dog, then lifted him onto the stool and plopped the Sorting Hat onto him.

She put hats on people with such practiced ease that she had clearly inherited Dumbledore's teachings.

The Sorting Hat said, "Young wizard, your heart is too calm. I can't see anything. Why don't you think of something?"

Oren agreed and began recalling his passionate days of extracting souls to make wooden puppets.

The Sorting Hat said, "Azkaba..."

"Cough, cough, cough." Dumbledore wiped his mouth. "I accidentally choked just now. Please continue."

Oren hurriedly changed his memories and began thinking about trivial matters at Hogwarts.

The Sorting Hat said, "You are a shrewd and ambitious young wizard. I believe you would do well in Slytherin..."

"Stop, stop, stop. What about courage? Don't I have courage?"

"You truly are a courageous young wizard."

"Are you kidding? I'm incredibly brave, all right? I want Gryffindor!"

"Young wizard, you would develop better in Slytherin."

"Impossible. Absolutely impossible. With a vermin like Snape as Head of House, how could anyone learn magic properly?"

"Young wizard, trust me. In my many years of experience, you would develop better in Slytherin."

"I'm obviously Gryffindor. You muddleheaded, dim-witted old hat, how many Galleons did Snape give you? Confess!"

"Not talking, huh? In a moment, I'll tell the headmaster you need replacing with a new Sorting Hat. You can get ready to gather dust in a storeroom."

"All right... Gryffindor!"

Amid the cheers of the little lions, Oren walked toward the Gryffindor table. The Weasley twins cheered especially loudly, as though they had won money.

As soon as he sat down, he heard the twins talking.

"I told you he was a Gryffindor."

"All right, you win." Lee Jordan pulled out a handful of copper Knuts and handed them to the twins. So they really had been gambling.

Oren quietly slipped away from his seat and sneaked all the way over to the Ravenclaw table.

"Cho Chang," Oren whispered.

"Oren, what are you doing? Have you decided to abandon darkness and join us in Ravenclaw?"

Oren...

He looked around, made sure no one was paying attention, and began an encrypted conversation with Cho Chang in Chinese.

"Look what this is. Authentic Chinese chili sauce. Even the words on the bottle cap are in French."

Cho Chang...

Oren exaggerated the difficulty of obtaining the chili sauce until it sounded as though he had endured eighty-one trials just to buy it.

Handing her a bottle of chili sauce, Oren said, "Look at this color, then look at the purity of these peppers."

"Remember to eat it sparingly. This stuff is hard to get in the United Kingdom, so it's extremely—no, twelve times—precious."

After saying that, Oren sneaked back to the Gryffindor table.

The moment he sat down, he felt three pairs of resentful eyes staring at him.

Harry leaned close to Oren. "The troll, huh?"

"Don't blame me." Oren said righteously, "Headmaster Dumbledore told me himself. Don't worry, the next time we see him, I'll definitely condemn him for his shameless behavior of lying to children."

The trio...